Just Give Me a Reason
by MerlockedWhovian
Summary: After the fall, John is lost. He is so, so lost. So, what happens when the man he thought was dead comes back? Even if his job isn't quite done? Yeah, all hell breaks loose. Warnings: Torture, and non-con.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, so the last time I tried my hand at writing fanfiction, I was in the eighth grade. Hopefully I've improved since then! :D I don't know how comfortable I am writing smut, so while this is a M fic, it might end up with light lemons rather than graphic sex. This is clearly listed as Sherlock/John, this is a MxM fic. This is a post-Reichenbach fic. So, John is sad, obviously. He's a wee bit suicidal, and he self-harms. So, if any of these things are triggers for you, do not read. This is NOT brit-picked, or beta'd. Any and all mistakes are mine. Okay, now onto the tedious disclaimer!**

**Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with BBC, Steven Moffat, or Mark Gatiss. I have no control over the BBC's Sherlock. If I did, Johnlock would be canon. I make no money off of this, it's just for kicks.**

**xXxxXx**

_Shit, not again. Please, not again!_

_I hear him say, "This phone call, it's my note."_

_No. NO. Not again god damn it!_

_He's falling. FUCK! He's falling!_

_SMACK!_

I'm awake now, and I'm sobbing. Through my bleary haze, I wonder what it was that woke me up. I know how that dream ends, I've seen it so many times. Every night that I actually manage to sleep, I have that dream. It ends with- oh god. It hurts to even think about. It ends in the worst way. I see myself, as I was that day at St. Bart's. I can't do anything to stop the words that come out of my mouth, and God knows I try to stop them. To change them.

_"She's dying, you MACHINE!"_

The look on his face. Jesus, if ever I've felt like a dick, it's when I see those eyes. Every night I see them. At my words, his face stays the same, but his eyes, they change. It looks like I've broken him. The shift is small, I didn't notice it at the time. God, if I had, maybe he wouldn't have jumped. Maybe we'd have had more time. Maybe I could've done something, instead of just STANDING there. Why didn't I do something? Anything?

Now I'm stuck. I'm in a rut, and I see no way out. Well, no way except one.

The thought has crossed my mind. Of course it has. It'd be so easy. There are so many ways, I could make it as painful or pain-free as I wished. I'm a doctor for Christ's sake.

The one thing standing in my way? Sherlock. God, even thinking his name hurts. I know him- knew him. He'd be so furious with me. He'd call me weak. He'd call me stupid, which wouldn't be new, but he'd mean it.

It would hurt, knowing that I disappointed him. I try- tried- so hard to please him. To get him to look at me and smile that John-you-are-my-conductor-of-light smile. I can't kill myself. I can't be a disappointment.

I deserve this pain. This never ending dullness.

I wake up, go to work, come home, eat chips, and then I go to bed.

My life is normal. My life is boring. THIS is my hell. I didn't save Sherlock, and now I must pay for it. I must be punished.

**xXxxXx**

I make my way to the bathroom, to see that the rubbish bin has been knocked over. I'm not sure how, but I'm too tired to think about it more. I don't look in the mirror, because I know what I will see.

New wrinkles, more grey hair, dark circles under my eyes, and a three day beard. God, I hate myself.

I turn on the shower, and wait for it to heat up. I reach into the top drawer on my side of the sink. I haven't opened Sher- his drawers. I can't.

His stuff is in there, I know it has to be. His aftershave, god I always loved how it smelled. His razors, not the electric kind like I use, are probably in there. Along with the hair product I found one time.

I _knew_ those curls couldn't be natural. I've had girlfriends with curly hair, I know it isn't just naturally perfect. He denied it. Until I confronted him, jar of product in hand. He didn't blush, hell, I don't know if he can blush. But, his jaw tightened just a bit.

I almost didn't notice it. I just happened to be looking in the general vicinity of his mouth. I was **not **looking at his lips. Nope, not at all.

But, I did notice the tightening. So, even as he scoffed, I knew he was embarrassed.

The memory brings a sad smile to my face.

God, I miss him.

**xXxxXx**

I step into the shower and reach for the rubbing alcohol and my razor blades. I deserve to be punished. I deserve pain. As I start to carve into my thigh, I think of how this started, the first week after the fall. Jesus, I was so distraught. I had to get it out. To have release. The chemicals the brain releases when I cut make things more bearable. I feel better, just for a bit.

It's easy to hide, really. Too easy. If he were here, he'd know. I see a hundred people a day, when you count the people on the Tube, and my patients. No one notices. Why would they?

I'm just a funny little doctor. They look at me, and they see the system. They see someone who is always there when they need me, and then disappears once I have fixed them up.

No one ever thinks about me. Well, Mrs. Hudson does, I suppose. She has been dealing with her own grief, though. We share watery smiles, and solemn nods. I haven't seen Lestrade since the day of the fall.

He tried to talk to me. I punched him. That was five months ago.

I put up my blade, and watch as blood mixes with the warm water and swirls down the drain.

When will this end?

**xXxxXx**

**So? How is it? Should I go on? I know it is a bit sad right now, but it will get better! I promise! Let me know with reviews or alerts, please? I just want to know someone wants to read it. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, I got 3 followers! This is for you! :D I hope you like it. Please consider leaving a review, just to tell me what you think about it. Criticism is always welcomed. **

**xXxxXx**

I am alive, but I feel like I'm dead. I don't DO anything. I'm not important. I go through the motions, and I work at the clinic 72 hours a week. When I am not working, I sit in my tiny hotel room.

Sometimes, I cry until I can't anymore. Sometimes, I scream until my voice is hoarse. Sometimes, I don't do anything. More often, I cut. It has been a year. A whole bloody year. Ha. _Bloody._ Sherlock always thought puns were a lower form of humour, and beneath him, but I distinctly remember a couple of occasions where he smiled at a pun I made.

I saw Lestrade today, and surprisingly, he looked almost as bad as I do. He flinched when he saw me looking at him. I expect he thought I was going to punch him. I didn't.

I hugged him, and he hugged me back. It was... nice? I think. Lately, I don't really feel much. I don't know what emotion I'm experiencing. I know when I am in pain, and I know the feeling of endorphins flooding my body after I cut.

We talked for 10 minutes before he left. He patted my shoulder, and told me to call him up to go to a pub some night. I think I might just take him up on that.

Not tonight though. Tonight is for me. Tonight I am going to slice up my thigh a bit, then disinfect it and bandage it up. I am going to get pissed out of my mind, and then I am going to wrap myself up in _his_ blue dressing gown. The one thing of his that I took from the flat. I haven't touched it, so I'm counting on it smelling like him.

**xXxxXx**

I'm wrapped in his dressing gown on the bed, when I feel... strange. Everything is hazy. It's almost like I've been drugged. Which is impossible, because I didn't even eat any- oh. _Oh. The whiskey. It was from Mycroft._

I haven't talked to him since before the fall, but he came by my room a couple months back. I didn't punch him. I didn't kick him out. I just sat and stared at him. Eventually, he brought up some case the government needs help on. I just stared. He left the whiskey on the table. I opened it tonight, and I drank the whole bottle.

_That bastard. Next time I see him, I am going to..._

Everything goes dark.

**xXxxXx**

When I wake up, I am tied to a chair.

Tied to a fucking chair.

Mycroft calls Sherlock dramatic.

_Shite, _called, he called Sherlock dramatic. _Get yourself together Watson. It's been a fucking year. _

I hear a door squeak, and I squint. Trying to see who it is, is pointless. I have a light shining right into my face. Although, I assume by the sound of the footsteps that it is Mycroft. I also assume that he knew I would be furious, hence the restraints.

"You know, tying me to a chair doesn't make me want to help you." I snarl at him. He is circling my chair now.

"Doctor Watson, this would go by so much more easily if you would just cooperate." He is using the voice I frequently heard him use with Sherlock, normally after Sherlock acted like an insolent child.

"Yeah? Make me. Sherlock is dead. Because of you. I am not helping you do anything. You go on with your life. You swing your brolly about. You Holmes' have always been cold. But, I though you cared about him. Guess I expected too much, huh?" I manage to keep an angry voice throughout my speech.

I didn't see the umbrella coming. How could I? It was behind me.

_SLAP!_

A searing pain went through my shoulder. Of course he hit the left one. That bastard probably has my file memorized, he knows I have sensitive scar tissue there. Arse.

"Doctor Watson, you may have known Sherlock better than anyone else. You may have known him better than he knew himself. But, do NOT presume to know anything about me. Are. We. Understood?" The bite in his voice was sharp. So sharp that I almost regretted my words. Almost.

"Now, Doctor Watson. You are going to look at these photos, and you are going to stay here until you tell us everything you can. Clear?" He says this as he steps slowly into the light.

He pulls a folder from his briefcase, and starts to remove what I assume are the photos he wanted me to look at. I want to tell him no. I want to tell him that he'll never get me to talk. But underneath Mycroft's stony exterior, I know that he loved Sherlock. I know he made a mistake. I almost forgive him. So I say, "Crystal."

**xXxxXx**

**So? :D What do you think? Comments, suggestions, and critiques are all welcome! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So, this chapter is kind of important! This is for you ****CeciACelosia and vampiregirl1700****! Your reviews meant the world to me! THANK YOU!  
**

**xXxxXx**

The photos seemed ordinary, they were just random people on random streets. One or two of them were taken on Baker Street, but the others were just random. It's difficult to shuffle through them while I am restrained, but he doesn't offer to free my hands.

_He knows me too well._

"I don't understand Mycroft. What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?" I look up and he sighs.

"Now Doctor, did my brother really overestimate your intelligence so drastically?" He draws out the last word and I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks.

"Now just... let me look again." I struggle to look at them again, and as I am on the last one I realize what he meant me to see.

In every single picture, there is a man. He changes his hair and clothing style, but it's definitely the same man. Although, the angle is never very good. It's almost always just a profile, or a small part of the face.

"Wait, this man. Who is he?" I ask as I look up. Mycroft is smiling. It isn't his manipulative smile. It's a real, full blown grin.

"Very good John. You aren't completely thick. That man is who we are trying to find. He is quick, and he always manages to slip away." Mycroft looks annoyed again. I can't help but smirk.

"Ha, I thought you were the British Government. You can't get one man?" I smile when he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"John, I need you to find this man. You need to find this man." He looks at me seriously and then kneels down to undo the restraints.

"If I release you, are you still planning on punching me?" He says tauntingly, but with a softer voice.

As he releases my bonds, and hands me my cane. I take it and sigh, "No, I suppose the moment has passed. I might sulk on the couch for an hour before I start looking for him."

He chuckles softly, "You really did live with Sherlock for 18 months."

I look at the ground as I leave.

_Yeah, I did. I would've stayed forever._

**xXxxXx**

I didn't sulk. I actually started right away. I had Anthea drop me off at an ATM machine near my hotel. Somehow, my balance had increased by about a thousand pounds. I guess this is a paid job. Mycroft hadn't said anything, but then, he rarely does.

_Sneaky bastard._

I spent hours out on the streets. I hit every homeless person I could find, and spent a good deal of money.

_Investments my arse. If this doesn't work, I have no clue how I will find him._

I don't even know his name. I just made copies of the pictures and handed them out. I guess now it's just a waiting game.

**xXxxXx**

I don't have to wait long. I am on my way home from the surgery the next day, and a homeless man in his 50s stops me.

"Spare change, sir?" He croaks.

"Don't mind if I do." I reply.

A woman passing by whips her head in my direction, looking extremely confused. She walks faster.

_Probably thinks I'm a nutter. Hell, _I_ think I'm a nutter. _

He hands me a napkin from a local restaurant with an address and a time written on it. I give the man thirty five pounds, then he shuffles off.

_Well, that was easy. Maybe Mycroft just needs to hire new people._

**xXxxXx**

I don't really know what to expect when I get to the address. I was told 10 o'clock, but I arrived at 9:45. The cab took me to one of the older parts of London, Postman's Park. I stay in the shadows and wait. I see the man I'm meant to find. He sits on a bench. I watch him from my hiding spot.

As it nears 10 o'clock, I see a black car pull up. Mycroft gets out.

_What the fuck? _

I watch as Mycroft sits next to the man, and they start to talk. I hear all of the conversation from my hiding spot, but nothing makes sense.

"How is the sky looking?" Mycroft starts

"Almost completely clear. There are just a couple of problems left. It should be clear within the month, provided everything plays out how I predict." the man replies.

Mycroft snorts, "You're good, but not always as accurate as you like to think you are. I have John occupied looking for you. So, do it fast. It surely won't take him long."

The man looks at Mycroft for the first time, "You what?! It's too early! I don't have time to explain now. I told you to wait!"

"You haven't seen him. It had to be done now. The man was losing sight of everything. His limp is back. He lives in a hotel room. He works too hard, and he barely sleeps or eats. He was dying. I'm not sure he isn't already dead inside."

It takes everything inside me not to rush out and punch Mycroft in his fucking face. How dare he? How dare he tell this man about me? What right does this man have to know all that? Who is he?

I try so hard to squash the voice in my head the jumps in and thinks _'But all he said is true. It's probably some therapist he is going to force me to go see. I _am _dead inside.'_

The man stands up and starts yelling at Mycroft.

"I have seen him! I watch him walk to work every day, and I watch him trudge home! I know he's hurting, and I am working as hard as I can! I need him just as badly as he needs me! For fucks sake, I love him Mycroft! 'Caring is not an advantage.' I know. But, I do care. I care so much. Too much." His voice cracks as he says the last word.

Suddenly, I know who this man is. But it's impossible. I have to be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something. Because I want this. I want this to be real. But it can't be. Sherlock is dead. I watched him die, and I watch it again every time I close my eyes.

I don't care if they see me. I run.

I hear my name being yelled. I ignore it, because the voice yelling it isn't possible.

I run till I can get a cab, and then I tell the man in the front seat to step on it. The cab lurches forward, and I look behind me. The man lunges into the street and runs. Following my cab.

"Hey, can you take me the most complicated way back to the hotel? Take as many turns as possible. I will give you 20 quid." I ask anxiously.

"Sure mate. But if you stiff me, I'll tell that man following you exactly where you went." He replied gruffly.

**xXxxXx**

I kept good on my word, and he whistled as he drove off.

I ran up to my room, and didn't realize that I left my cane till after I had locked myself into the bathroom.

I fell to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

_This isn't real. It can't be real._

My hands shake as I pull off my jumper. I turn on the water and pull out my razor blades.

I can't undo the buttons on my shirt. My hands are trembling too badly. I rip it off, and the buttons go flying everywhere.

Next, my trousers. I've lost so much weight recently, they slide off easily even while buttoned. They take my pants with them. Lastly, my shoes and socks are taken off.

I stumble into the shower and slide down the wall. Razor in hand I start on my left thigh. I start at the knee, and make long slices horizontally across my leg. I work my way upwards. They aren't deep enough to hit an artery, but I already know the first, third, and fourth will need stitches.

My hands are still shaking, so some are deeper than I meant to go.

I am on the fifteenth cut when I hear someone pounding on the door. Not the door to my room, but the bathroom door.

_Sherlock broke into my hotel room. NO! NO. It isn't him. He's dead. DEAD. God, I want to be dead. Maybe I am already._

"JOHN! Open the door! NOW! Open it!" He screams from the other side.

"No! You aren't real! You are dead! You are fucking dead!" My voice is shaking, and I know I am crying again. My throat is constricted, and it hurts.

I continue cutting as the pounding continues.

I am on cut number twenty-seven when the door gives. He runs in, and I see him in person in the light for the first time in a year.

His hair is sort of a reddish-auburn colour. He's skinny, too. He has dark circles under his eyes, and when he sees the razor blade in my hand, and the cuts on my leg, he gasps.

He takes off his coat, a horrid brown thing. He has a grey t-shirt on underneath. He's wearing jeans. Sherlock in jeans. Never thought I'd see the day. In a flash of grey, his shirt is gone, and his jeans hit the floor. I register him taking the blade out of my hand, and then he is in the shower with me.

_Sherlock is in the shower with me. What the fuck? _

He sits next to me, and then pulls me onto his lap. I sob into his neck, "This isn't real. This can't be real."

He doesn't reply right away, just tugs me closer.

"It is real John. I'm here. I'm here, and I am never leaving you alone ever again." He says into my hair. "We are going to have a long talk about what coping mechanisms are a bit not good, though. Later."

I smile a little at that. "Oh that's rich. Coming from you... Sherlock, we are naked. In the shower. Together." I feel blood rush to my cheeks, and to a place a bit lower than that.

"Oh, yes John. If you let me, I plan on being naked in a bed later with you, as well." He says softly.

I look up at him and see that he is blushing too, he knows I can feel he isn't completely unaffected by my close presence. "Is that what you want, Sherlock?" I ask softly.

"Yes, if you want it as well. I have wanted it for a rather long time." He says as his gaze drifts from my eyes to my lips. "Do you want this, John?"

"Oh God, yes." I close the distance between us, and slowly press our mouths together.

**xXxxXx**

**Okay! :D Wow, that was longer than normal. So, smut next chapter! Please read, and review! **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: YAY! I have 13 followers! WOW! :D That is incredible. Thank you. I do ask that some of you take the time to review. I know it's a hassle, but it really does make it easier to write when I get feedback! Okay, so this has smut ^_^ it is my first attempt, so please be kind. Keep in mind that I am a 19 year old girl so I have only ever experienced hetero sex first-hand. There is also a bit of angst starting in the next chapter that I have had planned since the beginning. I have a pretty clear idea of where I want this to go. I am thinking somewhere around 10 Chapters, mostly because I personally hate when fics are dragged out far too long. Okay! Enough of my rambling! Onto the story! :D**

**xXxxXx**

The kiss was... different. I've never kissed a bloke before.

_But this isn't just a bloke. It's Sherlock._

I can't help the moan that escapes when his tongue brushes over my bottom lip. My tongue comes out to meet his, and the faintest sound comes out of his mouth. I have wondered, what sounds those gorgeous lips would make while in the throes of passion.

_Oh god, I want to hear more._

I know we need to talk, though.

I reluctantly pull away, and he looks confused for a moment.

"Sherlock, are you sure this is what you want?" I ask, _please say you want this. Please say you want me._

"I never ask for something if I don't want it." He answers softly.

"Have you- erm..." my question earns me a glare.

"Yes John. Despite my brothers many remarks, I am not a virgin. My sexual experience is limited compared to yours, but I do know how this works." He sounded confident, but there was something in his eyes that made a warning alarm flash in my head.

"You know how this works...what do you mean by that?" I almost think I don't want to know the answer.

His gaze searches my face, then he answers, "In Uni I had two partners. One in my first year. Victor Trevor was his name. He was a footballer, and he liked me. Freak Holmes was what the others called me, and he _liked me._ It was great, till he got what he wanted. Then, he left. He said that I wasn't "worth the hassle". I was skeptical after that. I didn't trust anyone. Then, in my last year, Seb showed up. He was younger than me. He was charming, but his intelligent was lacking. He had his way with me one night, and then was bragging about bedding the elusive Sherlock Holmes the next day. Both experiences were rather disappointing. But, I know that it'll be different with you. You won't just cast me aside after you're done... Right, John?" His face was so earnest and hopeful. I almost felt my heart break for him.

I think of how to word this, I know I have to get it exactly right.

"Sherlock, that's all you've ever had? You must know that is not how it's supposed to be, right?" the look on his face shows me he doesn't know. He has no idea. "What we have, I love it. I want this with you. But, it has to be completely consensual. I want you to want this. You deserve to be loved, not used. I want this to be more than a one-off, Sherlock. I know you, and I don't expect you to change because we are in a relationship. I know the work comes first, and that is perfect. I am not normally clingy, but now that I have you back, I might want to touch you more than normal. Is this okay? Is this what you want?" I finish and expect a reply, but he crashes his mouth to mine.

_Close enough to a 'yes' for me._

I kiss him back, and then pull away just long enough to pull us both out of the shower. We stumble out of the bathroom, and barely make it to the bed. He pushes me onto the bed, and we scoot up towards the headboard.

I lay him down, and place my knees on the sides of his hips. I lean down and kiss him, leisurely sucking his bottom lip into my mouth. I bite on it gently, and his hands slide up my sides and into my hair. I slowly kiss along his jaw, and down to his throat. I pepper the long expanse with kisses and licks, my eyes flick up to meet his as I tentatively bite on his neck, just where it meets his shoulder. He shudders, and his eyes flutter closed.

I do it again, slightly harder, then I suck until I know there will be a gorgeous mark there for the next few days.

My hand slowly traces down his chest and stomach, I lightly wrap my hand around his erection. He hisses at the contact, and then moans when I start to pump my hand. His cock is longer than mine, but not by much. I have a bit more girth, but I think he is perfect. I kiss him soundly as my speed increases.

"John, please, I've waited so long. I can't-" I cut him off with a kiss, and then reluctantly let go of his erection.

I reach over and rummage through my bedside table, and remove my tube of lube, and a condom.

I look at Sherlock, wondering how he wants to do this. He must see the question on my face, because he leans up and whispers in my ear, "John, I want you inside me."

I swear I have no blood left in my brain, my cock is throbbing and so hard. I have to do this right though, so I open the lube and pour a good amount onto my fingers.

I start with one, and watch his face for any signs of discomfort. I know that penetration will diminish his erection, so I slowly lick it from the base to the tip. Then, as I slide another finger in, I take the head into my mouth.

I've never given head before, but I know what I like, so I try that.

I scissor my fingers and slide my mouth down on his cock. With a doctors precision, I flick lightly against his prostate just as I am going down on his cock. He moans, and if not for my right hand on his hip, his hips would've bucked up.

I keep sucking until he easily takes three fingers, intermittently brushing against his prostate. By the time he is properly prepared, he is completely wrecked.

"John, oh god please. I need it. I need you." He is moaning, and writhing under my touch.

I remove my fingers, and he whines as I put on the condom.

"Johnnn. I'm clean. You're clean. Forget the condom." He juts out his lower lip in a pout, and I kiss it chastely.

"We will go together to get tested once it's safe for you to be in the open. But, until then, we wear condoms." I say as I rub lube onto my cock.

Sherlock is transfixed by the site, he bites his lip and barely contain a whimper. As I line myself up, I kiss him. I slowly slide the head in, and kiss and suck on his neck as I let him adjust. After a few moments he rocks back onto me, pulling me in further.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful Sherlock." I whisper in his ear as I push in to the base.

"Oh god John, move!" He groans impatiently.

I chuckle and slide almost all the way out before pushing back in. I do this a few more times, getting faster with each thrust.

I watch his face as I fuck him, and I can't help but smile when he closes his eyes and arches up when I hit his prostate.

"Oh, fuck John! There! Do that again!" He is writhing, and I thrust in hard hitting that spot again. He moans out in pleasure, and it takes a lot of strength not to cum right that second.

I reach down and wrap my hand around his cock and pump. There is still lube on my hand so it glides up and down easily. Sherlock moans, and I time my hand to my thrusts.

As the pleasure builds up in the pit of my stomach, he says, "Oh fuck John, I'm so close."

I lean down and whisper in his ear, "I love you, you mad, gorgeous man." and he's spurting warm cum onto my hand and his stomach.

As I feel his muscles clench around me, he says "Oh John! I love you!" and I can't hold back.

I thrust a few more times and I'm climaxing as I moan his name.

As my cock starts to soften, I pull out and remove the condom. I tie it off, and drop it into the bin by the bed.

I get a warm, wet flannel and carefully wipe off myself. First my thigh, which has quite a bit of dried blood on it. Then my cock and stomach, both of which are sticky with cum. Finally, I wipe off Sherlock. I can't be bothered to clean the flannel now though, so I toss it on the floor and climb back in bed with him.

He pulls me into him, so my head is on his chest, and I can hear the thrum of his heartbeat. I look up at him and see he is a little tense. I kiss him slowly and look him in the eyes when I say "I mean it Sherlock. I love you."

He smiles, and runs his hand through my short hair and says "I always say what I mean, John. I love you, too."

I smile and snuggle against his chest.

It isn't long till I am asleep, content that I finally have my consulting detective in my arms.

**xXxxXx**

**So? Good? Bad? Okay? Please give me some feedback! I am nervous about posting this. I've never written any sort of smut before! I hope you like it! Angst in the next chapter! :D **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: AHHH! Thank you all for the follows and reviews! :D Okay, so, angst in this! I've had this chapter planned for a while. I hope you guys like it! This one is a bit different, we are seeing a lot of stuff going on at once, so the POV is going to jump around a bit (I'm sorry if that bugs you). Normally, I don't like to write from Sherlock's POV because I feel like I can't properly portray him, but this is how I have to write this chapter. _ I hope it isn't too bad! Okay! This is a long one, and I am sorry. I'm so, so sorry. **

**WARNINGS: Violence, and a bit of almost-torture. If these are triggers for you, DO NOT READ THE LAST SECTION IN JOHN'S POV! I will put a summary at the bottom of the chapter for those who do not want to read John's last section.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of it. **

**xXxxXx**

**John's POV**

When I woke up, Sherlock was gone. There was no trace of him.

I fell out of bed and ran to the toilet, where I promptly threw up.

Once I was done, I wandered into the kitchen. My cane was sitting on the table.

I sink to my knees, put my head into my hands, and I cry.

_Oh god. I wanted it to be real so badly._

**xXxxXx**

**Sherlock's POV**

I knew leaving John before he woke up was a mistake. Judging by the cutting, and the alarming amount of whiskey bottles on his counter, the probability of him thinking our encounter had been a dream or delusion was highly probable.

I have to keep him safe though. It is my highest priority. Moran is still out there, somewhere in London. I calculate that he will be somewhere less inhabited. He is not stupid. He knows of Mycroft's CCTV accessibility. I also know that he is probably disguised.

From the information Mycroft provided, we believe that Moran was romantically connected to Moriarty. From my encounters with Moriarty, I believe the sentiment was completely one-sided. I may not be a true sociopath, but Moriarty was. He most likely needed Moran for the major hits, and knew the way to get what he wanted.

Our file on Moran was, regrettably, rather limited.

We know very little about him.

We know he was a Colonel when he was in the war. His war file has been completely wiped, suggesting he did a lot of missions that our government didn't want anyone to know about. He was probably the head of a small special ops team. Finding the other members would be tedious, it would require searching through many files to see which ones had been wiped. There would be a few blank files, because there were several teams like his. Then, by using the process of elimination, we would need to find the small number of men he had on his hit team.

That was completely unacceptable. It would take far too long.

_I have to save John. Whatever it takes._

**xXxxXx**

**Moran's POV**

I watch as that pompous git Holmes leaves Watson's flat. I can't help the snarl that rises up in me when I see him. He took everything from me.

I am going to take everything from him. I am going to burn the heart out of him.

**John's POV**

I have a bowl of biscuits, and a cup of tea.

I am watching Doctor Who, my go to show on my days off. Thank god I didn't have a shift at the surgery today, I probably would've called off if I had one.

Martha just teleported onto the Master's ship.

I always liked Martha, and I never understood why so many people don't like her. She was smart, dedicated, and diligent. She walked the fucking Earth for the Doctor, I don't know what more she could've done.

Yeah, she loved him. But, being that close to brilliance, how could she not fall in love?

I get a sick feeling in my gut, when I realize that I was Martha.

The Work was Rose Tyler.

Martha never wins the Doctors hearts. He will always love Rose.

I turn off the telly, and walk back to the kitchen.

Then, someone I never thought I would see again crashed through my door.

"Sebastian?" I ask bewilderedly.

He raises a gun and shoots me. As I go down, I hear, "Hey Watson. Long time no see buddy."

Then everything goes black.

**xXxxXx**

**Sherlock's POV**

The car pulls up to my brothers estate.

As soon as I step out, five men surround me and take me inside. I am shown into an office, where I see Mycroft behind a large mahogany desk.

"Hello brother, how's the diet?" I ask belligerently.

He doesn't even look up at me, "Fine." he replies as he slides a folder across the desk towards me.

I huff in annoyance at his lack of response, and slump down in the chair across from him. I pick up the file, and see that it contains three pictures picked up from the CCTV. They are of Moran, surprisingly he is completely free of disguises.

"What is he doing?" I ask aloud. "He didn't even bother to hide from your cameras. It's as if he wants us to see him. When were these taken?" I ask, looking up at Mycroft.

He has a grim look on his face, more so than usual. "They were taken half an hour ago, Sherlock. You know the streets of London better than anyone else. Where was he going?"

I close my eyes to get to my mind palace.

I run down the first corridor, left, left, right, right, left, then I run down to the last door on the left. I rummage through my mental map, and find the places he was spotted, then I connect them to try to find a final destination.

My eyes shoot open, and I feel a cold sensation trickling down my spine. I know that it is fear. I am very, very afraid.

"John."

Mycroft nods and says, "As soon as I realized, I sent a team to his flat. We were too late."

He slides a final picture across the desk to me. My fingers are trembling as I pick it up. There is a single sentence written in what looks like blood on the wall of John's bedroom.

"_**I HAVE YOUR HEART. I WILL BREAK HIM. JUST LIKE YOU BROKE MINE.**_"

I swallow tightly, and look up at Mycroft. "The blood?" I ask softly.

Mycroft lowers his head.

"It's John's."

I close my eyes tightly and try to think of a solution where we both live. "Do you have any leads to where he is Mycroft?" I ask desperately.

"I have one picture, of a van heading out of the city. But, we have no idea where it could go. He could be anywhere." Mycroft says softly.

I know he feels bad, but I don't care. It's John who is at stake.

"YOU SAID YOU'D PROTECT HIM!" I fling the files off his desk. "YOU SAID HE WOULD BE SAFE!" I can't stop the tears that are falling down my face. I know this is the first time Mycroft has seen me cry since I was a child, but I don't care. I kick the desk as hard as I can, and then I pick up the chair and throw it.

_I am having an irrational emotional response. I don't give a fuck. _

Mycroft lets me vent. He lets me destroy his office, and silently waits while I sob. Once I have my emotions back in check, he buzzes his intercom and Anthea comes into the office. If she is surprised by the disarray, she doesn't show it.

"Anthea, I want a car ready to leave in 20 minutes. I want a team ready as well." Mycroft's voice is calm. Anthea nods and then leaves.

I look up at Mycroft, "Where are we going?" I ask him tentatively.

He looks at me for a moment and then takes out his Blackberry.

"We are going to find John."

**xXxxXx**

**John's POV**

When I wake up, I am in some dark warehouse. It's damp, so I assume it's raining outside.

I look around me. I can't move my arms and legs, it feels as if I am restrained on some sort of stretcher, but I can feel the broken femur from the bullet in my right leg. I don't know how long I wait there before I hear footsteps coming towards me. A light turns on directly overhead, and I am temporarily blinded.

"Hey Watson. Been a while, eh?" I hear Sebastian ask from my left.

"What the hell Seb? What am I doing here?" I ask, still dazed from whatever drug he used to put me under.

He lets out a gruff, dark laugh.

"Who would've known. We both fell for mad men. You know, when we were on that sniper team together, you were the closest mate I had. That was the closest I have ever been to a man. Till Jim came along, that is. I almost, ha, for a while, I almost though you and I would be good together, Johnny. Could you imagine that? Did you ever wonder why you were my favorite on that team? It wasn't because you were the best shot, which you were. It wasn't because your medical skills saved all our asses loads of times. No, it was because I _liked _you. I even fancied myself in love with you, once. But, those days are gone. I met a man, and really fell in love with him. Then, your boyfriend took him away from me. Now, I am going to hurt your boyfriend just like he hurt me. Sorry Johnny, but all's fair in love and war, yeah?"

He finishes his speech, and I am shocked. Is it possible I didn't imagine last night? Was Sherlock really there with me?

My thoughts are cut short when I realize that my trousers are being cut off. Then, I hear Sebastian chuckle. It gives me the creeps.

"You've already started my work for me, Johnny boy. Never pinned you as the self-destructing type. Ah, well. I'll start with something bigger, yeah? How about a blow torch?"

He is close to my face now, and grinning like a fucking mad man. I think back to the war. I remember my team. I remember why we were formed. I sure as hell remember why we were disbanded. For the first time, I am in a life or death situation, and god help me, I just wish I could die.

**xXxxXx**

_**Summary for those who skipped John's last section:**_

_**Moran has taken John to an abandoned warehouse. John wakes up to find that his leg is broken, and the readers find out that John was on Moran's sniper team in Afghanistan. Moran tells John that he fancied John at one point in time, then he fell in love with Moriarty. Moran promises to do horrible things to John, in order to hurt Sherlock. John is terrified, because he knows why Moran was discharged by the Army, but you readers won't find that out till later.**_

**A/N: AH! Sorry! Don't kill me! I should have the next chapter out Tuesday night, or Wednesday night at the latest! (I live in California)**

**So, warnings for the next chapter: Violence, torture, and possible non-con. MAYBE. I'm still debating that last one. If this freaks you out, or if any of these things are triggers for you, don't read it! I will put a warning at the top of the next chapter. I will also put a summary at the bottom of the next chapter for anyone who doesn't want to read the angsty/violent torture scene. Okay! PLEASE REVIEW! :D **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: AH! 18 followers? You guys are awesome! Please consider leaving me a review! ;D**

**Okay, warnings for this chapter include: violence, torture, and non-con/rape. If these are triggers for you, please skip the first and third parts. I will put a summary at the end to tell you any important facts that we find out during these sections. **

**xXxxXx**

**John's POV**

I closed my eyes tightly. I know this is going to hurt like hell, and I'll be damned if I'm going to give this bastard the satisfaction of making me beg. I know eventually everyone does, I am just hoping to hold out long enough till someone can find me.

I can't help the scream that is torn from my throat as I feel the flames torching my thigh. It just hurts so fucking badly. I work hard to close off my mind from my body. I imagine so many scenarios, most of them are comprised of Sherlock saving me.

Time goes wonky. I don't know how long I've been here. The whippings and other torture just start to blend together. One minute I am having my toe nails ripped off, and the next I am having heated needles shoved through my palms.

I don't know how much time passes. All I know is that right now, my bindings are being released, and my feet are being lowered to the ground. I am bent forwards over the stretcher, and I am incredibly aware of what is next on Moran's agenda.

I distance myself as best I can, but I can't stop the fear. I am trembling, and I hear Moran laugh behind me.

"Oh Johnny, I have wanted to do this for years. I would have too, if it weren't for the unfortunate incident that led to my discharge." Moran laughed again, this time it was bitter, and hard.

"You were always so loyal, you weren't the one to turn me in, were you? No, I thought not. I know who it was. It was that fucking sod Williams. He was always jealous of the way you looked at me, Johnny. He wanted you for himself. I had to show him who was the boss."

I am sickened by how sure of himself Moran sounds.

"You- you killed one of your own, Moran. You got pissed, and killed him. You can't justify that. He turned you in because you raped dozens of innocent women and children. That didn't mean you had to kill him." My voice is weak, and it doesn't seem as intimidating as I wanted it to be.

"No. I did have to kill him. He turned on his brother-in-arms like it was nothing. He deserved a much more painful death that he got. A bullet to the head was too good for him. But, enough of that Johnny. I've waited a long time for this." He spit on his hand and suddenly I feel him at my entrance. He pushes in roughly and I scream at the feeling of being split in two.

He moans behind me, and I feel like I am going to be ill. It hurts so badly. I give in, and I beg.

"Oh please god, let me die." I hear Moran grunt as he reaches completion, and then I pass out.

**xXxxXx**

**Sherlock's POV**

I am going through everything I know of Moran to try and come up with anywhere he might deem acceptable to hold John.

I keep going back to something. If Moran loved Moriarty, there has to be somewhere they interacted the most. Maybe there is a factory, or warehouse that hold sentimental value. It's all so close, it almost fits together, but it just doesn't!

I grind my teeth and clench my fists into my hair.

_It's been a week._

Every one of Mycroft's agents keep giving me looks. As if I could miss the emotions conveyed in each one.

Pity. Sadness. Resignation.

They believe we will find John after he is... gone.

I can't let that happen. I just got him. I won't let him go.

**xXxxXx**

**John's POV**

He's back again. This time he is slicing up the bottom of my feet with pieces of glass.

I don't know how much more of this I can take. I keep trying to retreat to a safe place in my mind, but I've never even meditated before. I'm rubbish at it.

So I endure it. There have been two more rapes since the first time. It hurts, I'm sure he tore something down there.

I just want it to end. I'm so damaged, I don't think Sherlock would want me anymore. I'm dirty, and disgusting, and he deserves someone clean.

I feel so pathetic. I keep looking for a way out, but almost every session ends with me passing out from the pain.

I'm tired, I'm hurt, and I give up.

**xXxxXx**

**Sherlock's POV**

We have been searching the area surrounding London for 10 days, 5 hours, 9 minutes, and 57 seconds when we finally reach the right warehouse.

All I have to do is look at the doorway to see that John is inside.

Mycroft spots is too, just after I do.

An aglet, small, and brown. It's relatively clean, only a minimal amount of dust has collected. It must've been here just about as long as John has been missing. That fact, combined with the obvious grey/blond hair that is clinging to it, indicates that this is in fact where John is being kept.

My heart is unusually heavy in my chest, and I do believe my blood pressure has increased.

Mycroft insists that his men go in first, and although I don't want to comply, Mycroft insists that I could be a danger to John if I go in before Moran is neutralized. I can't do anything to put John at risk. I won't.

So, we wait. It is exactly 200 seconds until we hear gunfire.

Only one gunshot rings out.

I am desperate to know what happened, and so I am bouncing on the balls of my feet when the front door swings wide.

**xXxxXx**

**John's POV**

I am awoken by a loud noise, I recognize it as the front door being thrown open.

Moran runs into the room and starts to undo the restraints. I vaguely hear him say that he is moving me and if I scream, I will die.

I know this is my chance, my only chance.

I muster all of my strength, and I twist out of his grip. He roars as I grab the gun from his hand and point it at his head. My voice is soft, but firm.

"You filthy bastard. You really thought you would get out of this alive. You thought you could do all that to me, and not have repercussions? I'm sure you'll love what Mycroft has planned." I am so angry, but my hand stays firm.

He looks scared, and I know he should be.

The wrath of the Holmes' men is great indeed.

His eyes shift around the room before he charges at me.

I hear a single shot, and Moran goes down. I am a bit disappointed that he got off so easy, but I am relieved I wasn't the one who had to kill him. We were friends, once. A long, long time ago.

I am immediately surrounded by Mycroft's men. I don't know which one fired the kill shot. I crumple as the last of the adrenaline leaves me. I won't let them put me on a stretcher, not after the hell I've been through. So, they sling my arms over two of their shoulders, and haul me to the front door.

One of the other men kicks the door open and goes out first.

As I am helped out, I look up and meet Sherlock's eyes.

**xXxxXx**

**Summary for those who skipped the 1st and 3rd part:**

_**We find out that Moran was discharged because a man on his sniper team turned him in after he raped many women and children. Moran retaliated by killing the man who turned him in. Moran tortures John, and rapes him three times. When Mycroft's men come inside the warehouse, Moran tries to move John, John manages to get the upper-hand and the gun. One of Mycroft's men shoots Moran when he tries to get the gun back from John. John is taken outside, where he sees Sherlock. **_

**A/N: Ooh! I am very proud of this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it! Please consider leaving a review! I really want to know what you guys think! :D Next chapter should be up Thursday night! Unless I get impatient and write it before then. ;D**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Ugh, so this chapter was so hard to write! I have been sick. I've pretty much been living off of chicken noodle soup and popsicles. Okay, so here we go! **

**xXxxXx**

**Sherlock's POV**

My heart drops as I see how badly injured John is. He is trembling on his feet, but I see he refused to let them put him on a stretcher. He is naked, and judging by the marks visible on his neck, torso, hips, wrists, knees and ankles, he had been restrained horizontally, most likely on some sort of hard surface due to the way he is favoring his shoulder. It's possible that he was on a stretcher, and that is why he wouldn't let them put him on another.

I rush towards him and he stumbles out of the hold of Mycroft's men.

I catch him just as he is going down. His eyes are wet, and haunted, but he is real. He's alive, and he's mine.

_My John. My strong soldier, and my caring doctor. _

He clears his throat, and grabs my scarf. He pulls my face closer to his, and his eyes rake over every line, as if he is reading the last year on my face. I wait, and I hold my breath waiting for him to say something.

Mycroft is holding back his men, giving John and I a moment alone.

John's voice is rough, "Just give me a reason, Sherlock. Why shouldn't I go on with my life, and leave you behind? You left me."

My throat feels tight. I have a bit of trouble choking out the words, "Because, I- I love you, John. Everything that I did, was for you. Moriarty knew that you were my heart John. I killed people for you, and I would've killed more, if it meant you would be safe. I don't expect you to forgive me. I knew as I stood on the edge of the rooftop, that it would hurt you. I knew you loved me, just as much as I knew I loved you. It was obvious. We shared glances, and light touches, and you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I always thought we would have forever. A life full of chasing criminals, and morning toast and jam. A life full of fights over milk, and you writing your blog. John, if you never forgive me, I understand. But please, please you have to know that I would do anything, I would go anywhere, and I would give everything to make you happy again. Even if that means letting you go."

I have tears streaming down my face, John raises a shaking hand and wipes them away gently. He's crying too, and I want to kiss him, but I still don't know where we stand.

**John's POV**

Sherlock's words both break my heart, and patch it up.

To see Sherlock so distraught, and so out of control, it is completely unnerving.

Because that's so very not-Sherlock.

I am looking for the words to say to him, I know my brain to mouth function is slower than normal. But, Mycroft's men are fidgeting, and I know they are anxious to get me to some private hospital somewhere.

So, I pull his face down further, and I kiss him.

"You're a bloody idiot, you know that right? You aren't getting away from me again." His face lights up at my response, and he helps Mycroft's men tuck me into a large blanket, and into the backseat of a car.

He sits next to me as we ride back into London.

I feel his eyes dart over my face, and I know he is seeing everything that Moran did. I know he blames himself, and maybe I would be hurt less if it weren't for him. But, I knew what I was getting into. I would die for Sherlock Holmes. Because that's what comes with love.

Sacrifice, and sometimes a lot of pain.

I wouldn't trade the life I have for anything.

I have a lot of healing to do, and I know it will be a long time before I am okay again, but with Sherlock by my side, I can do anything.

I grab his hand, and lace our fingers together.

**Mycroft's POV**

I watch as my brother gets into the car after John, and I let a smile cross my face.

I turn to Lucia and she hands me fifty quid. "You know I really was hoping John would punch Sherlock. I suppose you do know him better. I never got the impression that he was gay. He seemed interested enough in me."

I smile and kiss her cheek, "Everyone is interested in you, darling. Especially when you wear such beautiful clothes. Although, I am not so fond of the name you have chosen to use this year. Amy is just, not you. At least Anthea was elegant, like your given name is, Amy just seems common. But, we agreed. I let you choose your names, and you let me eat cake."

She laughs and says "Mycroft, I love the name Amy! If you would watch the telly with me, you'd understand. To me, Amy is the name of a fiery, passionate, and brave woman. You are the only man in the world who knows what my real name is. I get to have fun with choosing my aliases."

"You are all of those things, my dear. It is your decision, though what you see in Doctor Who, I will never understand. Now, I do believe that we need to get the required legislation drawn up. It simply won't do to have a joining ceremony. No, Sherlock and John deserve to be properly married, without having to leave the country to do it."

Lucia looks at me and smirks, "Already planning the wedding, Mycroft? Who knows how long it will be before John proposes. It could be years yet."

"Lucia, love, I will bet you 100 quid that it will be Sherlock to propose, and that it will occur within the next 18 months." I put my hand out, and she shakes it firmly. Then, I draw her hand to my mouth and kiss it lightly.

"You will regret that, I am positive John will do the proposing. Now, I assume we should have new cameras put in the flat? I pity whoever has to watch the feeds, it'll be very... interesting indeed." Lucia pulls out her blackberry and starts typing as she talks.

I raise my hand and place it on top of the phone, and she looks up, surprised.

"I believe that it would be best if we- ah, wait a few weeks before we resume surveillance inside the flat. Double the security outside, and I want the CCTV footage of both of them monitored at all times." I say, knowing full well that Sherlock could find a way around even that, if he wanted to.

She nods, and then gets into the car that has been waiting for us. I follow, and we join hands as soon as the door is closed.

All of this business with John and Moran has really gotten to me. I can't imagine what I would do if I lost my dear Lucia.

**xXxxXx**

**Gah! This chapter did not come easily. Okay, so I am thinking maybe 1 more chapter? Set into the future a bit? xD Tell me your thoughts! **


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